


Broken swords

by IamInadequate



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Masturbation, Reunion, Romance, Sexual Content, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamInadequate/pseuds/IamInadequate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He opened the door with his hammer on hand – it was always wise to be armed. He hadn’t expected to see a hooded girl, soaked and trembling on his porch.<br/>“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously, resting the head of his weapon against his shoulder.<br/>The girl looked him in the eyes for a long moment, her mouth slightly opened in surprise.<br/>“Ser Gendry? Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill?”<br/>“Who wants to know?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken swords

**Author's Note:**

> A girl with a broken sword is looking for a blacksmith. He will never finish his work.  
> She doesn't complain.

A thud at the door made Gendry jump to his feet.

Someone, in the middle of the night, was knocking at his forge: it could be one of the children, or perhaps Jeyne or Willow. Was someone in danger?

 

He opened the door with his hammer on hand – _it was always wise to be armed_. He hadn’t expected to see a hooded girl, soaked and trembling on his porch.

“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously, resting the head of his weapon against his shoulder.

The girl looked him in the eyes for a long moment, her mouth slightly opened in surprise.

“Ser Gendry? Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I need to talk with the blacksmith. This is a forge, isn’t it?”

“I’m the smith, and Ser Gendry.”

“Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill is a blacksmith?”

“Is that a problem?”

 

The girl smiled scornfully. Was she mocking him? Gendry held the hilt of his hammer tight and reached for the door, ready to close it violently, but suddenly the girl’s hand was touching his shoulder lightly – _such a swift motion_ , and just for a second, then she withdrew her hand like she had been burnt.

 

“Not, it’s not. It wasn’t my intention to insult you. I’m Beth and I need a blacksmith to fix my sword.”

“I’m busy for the week. If you need a forge, go in to town. The smith there is fine.”

He was already closing the door, when the girl spoke again. “Please. My sword is broken and it’s very late.”

“I can sell you a one new. Fine work.”

“I love my sword, it’s a fond memory of my father. Please, Ser Gendry.”

 

Gendry looked at her eyes, torn between pity for a girl alone in the dark and the suspiciousness of the whole situation. He nodded and let her into the forge, his own house. The girl, Beth, took off her long cloak and ran across the room to warm herself against the stove. “I want part of the money now and you'll still have to wait a week. I have chain mail, swords and helms to fix. Highest priorities.”

 

Her eyebrows lifted up, but she nodded happily and unsheathed her sword to lay it on the big table. Gendry studied it: it was good steel and its style seemed similar to the one he had once seen back in King’s Landing, a Braavosi sword. A sword crafted for sailors.

He openly studied her, too. Her face was cracked in a frown and he recognized her Westerosi traits, and yet her accent sounded richer than his own. She was sun-tanned. Maybe she was some sailor's daughter, or maybe she had lived in the Free Cities.

His eyes went back to the sword and he started tracing a deep crack with his fingertip, his gaze examining the dents.

“Why you didn’t fix it earlier? What the seven Hells did you do with it? Have you cut some wood? Or… maybe iron! It’s ruined.”

“Can you fix it?”

He sighed loudly. “I can try.”

 

Her smile perplexed him, but he took the sword and tucked it with the others, frowning at his own stupidity. The girl took out from her pocket few silver coins and tossed it on the table; Gendry stared at the coins before slipped them in his pocket.

 

“Where are you going to sleep?” he shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t care.

The girl shrugged biting her bottom lip, her expression thoughtful.

“I can ask Jeyne-“

“Your wife?” she asked quickly, gazing out of the window towards the inn.

“I have no wife. A bastard shouldn’t fathered other bastards.”

Beth’s eyes were now on him, a cold wrath was shining in her pupils, but she didn’t speak.

“She’s the innkeeper. If you have enough money…” Gendry nodded towards the bigger house and Beth agreed.

“Come, then.”

 

They both wrapped themselves in heavy cloaks and ran under the pouring rain. Gendry knocked at the door and a very sleepy Willow glanced at them for a brief second, then let them pass the threshold.

“Who’s that?”

“She’s got money… give her a room. We haven’t much food, so you'll have to manage.” Beth cast a glance at the girl and one at Gendry as her fingers pulled out a little bag full of jingling coins to drop in front of the innkeeper.

“For a week.” She exclaimed wearily. Gendry noted how tired she looked for the first time in the night. _Where did she come from? How did she manage to travel without coming to harm?_

 

“Where are you from?” Willow asked as her nimble fingers played with the silver coins.

“Braavos.”

“What’s your name?”

“Beth.”

“Age?”

“Seven-and-ten.”

“Oh. You look younger, and you don’t look Braavosi.”

Beth shrugged. Her body was taut, she was worried and cautious. Apparently she disliked questions and Gendry rather understood her: he hated them as well.

“So, welcome to the Crossroads Inn! We have a spoon or two of stew, if you’re hungry. Don’t question which animal is stewed…”

“No, thank you. I just want to sleep.”

“Come on, then! Gendry, help yourself to the stew.”

Gendry shook his head and went back on his forge. He had work to do. 

* * *

 

The following morning Gendry went to the inn to break his fast. He desperately needed energy to survive the long day ahead.

Obviously, he was a little curious about Beth too.

 

“Bringing a stranger here, Gendry. In the night. Very wise.” Jeyne hissed, almost throwing a bowl of oatmeal in his direction.

“She turned up at my door. What should I do?”

“Shoo her.”

“Jeyne, come on! She paid fifteen silver coins for a week.”

“Where's she now?”

“She rushed out at the dawn, she said she had business. Didn't convince me at all, though.”

Willow sighed, stabbing her breakfast with a spoon. “In three or four days, Lem, Anguy and the other men will be back. And with her money we can buy turnips, onions, cabbage and potatoes! Not including some good piece of meat… real meat! A normal stew at last!”

Gendry nodded, already feeling on the tip of his tongue the taste of real stew; Jeyne shook her head and let the argument go, yelling at some child not to run with his bowl in hands.

 

_What could have been that girl’s business in the middle of the forest?_

* * *

 

 

It was almost night when he heard a horse come back, and Beth riding him.

How did he know? The girl was knocking at his door, her face tired and depressed; _was he reading desperation in her eyes?_ He didn’t dare ask.

“Can I stay here to watch you?” she asked biting her lip. Gendry nodded, letting her pass the threshold. She had a funny scent. She smelled of horse and perspiration, and something he couldn’t place.

Beth paced the room silently – such a quiet pace, then hopped on the table and sunk her palms on her knees, her head slumped. She looked really sad.

 

Gendry began to hit the sword with the hammer, his beats clear and steady. Very soon he forgot her intense eyes and went back into his world.

 

When the glowing blade touched the water, he lifted his gaze to her, locking his eyes with hers. She was focused on him, studying him.

“What?” Gendry asked, examining his own work critically.

“What?” she repeated straightening her back and leaning her hands back to support her weight.

“Don’t you have nothing else to do?”

“Am I bothering you?”

 

Gendry thought about it. No, she didn’t bother him. _M’lady_ , too, used to watch him work. After this memory he frowned. Yes, now he was bothered. “No, but isn’t it boring?”

“No.” Her lips twitched in a little smile. “I like it. You’ve passion when you use your hammer, like a fire.”

Gendry went back to his sword, a little sigh escaping his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days had passed with Beth running away at the dawn only to come back at sunset. For business. She’d brought back some rabbits and birds to share. Even if there were too many hungry mouths, she didn’t complain. In the evenings, she just hopped on his table to watch him work.

 

They didn’t talk. What could they say? Their eyes locked often though, and sometimes a warmth that had nothing to do with the embers heated him.

 

*

Had he ever thought about Beth before sleeping? Yes, he was a man of one-and-twenty after all; Beth’s eyes were so bright and big, her minute figure had some curves – _slight curves, not like the whores of the brothels_ ; she was pretty.

_His interest was because he hadn’t felt a woman’s touch in some time_ , he repeated to himself as his mind wandered to her little nimble hands and pink mouth, while his own hand was bringing him to the peak of pleasure. After the moment of bliss, he always felt frustrated and guilty.

*

 

“Ser Gendry.”

It was funny and weird being heralded as Ser. The one who had invested him his knighthood was long gone. Nobody turned to him with that title any more. On her lips that word sounded derisive, but her eyes never betrayed her emotion.

“Beth.”

Silence. Gendry lifted his eyes to her and snorted, as beads of sweat dribbled from his neck and bare chest. He likely smelled, but she didn’t turn up her nose or gaze at him disgusted. She was attentive, curious.

 

He didn’t understand what intrigued her about him, he was simply Gendry. She had watched him for three days and he was sure he hadn’t changed much in that time.

“Tonight, or perhaps tomorrow morning, the Brotherhood without Banners will come here. Make sure you’re not in the woods. They are good people, but you know…”

Beth nodded. She looked deadpan, but something shone in her eyes. _Fear? Concern?_

“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You didn’t. Thank you.”

Silence again. Now Beth was on her feet and a little closer. She was watching him. Not the sword or the hammer. She was gazing at his face, his shoulders, part of the chest not covered by the apron and his arms.

 

He studied her as well.

He liked her brown hair, twisted in a disheveled braid, and her intense grey eyes. He watched her long, thin neck – _he wondered what the taste of her skin could be._ He lingered on the collarbone, moving slowly down until the neckband of her shirt appeared.

“You should go,” he gulped, tightening his hold on the hilt of his hammer.

“Yes…” she replied, as still as a statue. He looked at her curiously and she sprinted out, almost tripping on a basket.

 

That night, Gendry dreamt of the skin under that shirt. 

 

* * *

 

 

The arrival of the Brotherhood without Banners came with the first sunbeam: ten stinking men and ten horses baring chaos and a barrel full of food, clothes and iron. Gendry surveyed the food. It was a lot, but not enough for all the children.

It wouldn’t last until their next visit.

He greeted Anguy and Lem with a nod and a smirk, but his eyes soon lingered on the emaciated man who was dismounting his horse. Thoros of Myr, the red priest. It was an odd visit, and he didn’t really want to spend his time chatting, so he left the cheerful company to go back to work.

 

While he worked on a particularly ruined piece of chain mail – _fixing it was an utter waste of time in his opinion,_ someone came into the forge.

It was Thoros, his face tired and his clothes dirty from the journey.

Minutes passed, a heavy silence between them, as Gendry was frowning at the chain mail and Thoros was surveying the swords.

“Will you join us tonight?” the man asked, touching the hilt of Beth’s sword.

Gendry repaired a hole and sighed. “I have a lot of work.”

“They want to meet your pretty little friend.”

The younger man scowled at his lap, clearly trying to avoid the red priest. “There’s nothing between me and that girl.”

“Willow chirped that you’re quite inseparable.”

“I have to repair her sword, she's just checking my work…”

“I want to see you tonight. And bring her too.”

Gendry nodded, but he couldn’t promise to bring her. She was so elusive and stubborn.

 

*

“Why? I mean, I don't know them and I’m tired.”

“Ah, I don’t know. I think they want to see the fool who spent two silver coins per night to stay here.” He smirked, looking at her. A little smile was creeping in her rosy lips as well.

She nodded, her legs swinging slightly, as her eyes lingered on him scrupulously. Gendry was scrubbing his neck with a soaked cloth, the hotness of the forge and work relieved a little. He was somehow used to her eyes on him, even if her gaze seemed ravenous, as if she was some sort of predator.

But he wasn’t scared.

 

Gendry closed the door on his back and they walked towards the inn. He knew the Brotherhood would probably start in with the dirty jokes and mocking winks, but he didn’t care.

When they walked through the door, the men all turned and smirked at them, the first to open his mouth being Anguy. His words were directed at Beth, whose limbs stiffened. She looked utterly scared and Gendry wondered why: she was the who girl came from nowhere in a starless night, she had spent her days in a forest full of wolves and other dangers. And now she was scared of Anguy.

 

“Everything’s fine?” he asked, perplexed.

“Yes.”

 

Gendry wasn’t stupid. He could see that something was wrong with Beth’s behavior. She was eating quickly and her eyes never left her plate, avoiding everybody. Thoros was strange as well: he was watching her attentively, as if he had seen something in her.

He knew about Thoros’ past and his goliardic friendship with King Robert after the Rebellion, but he sincerely doubted he would be interested in Beth in that way.

As soon as she had finished her last spoon of stew, she ran.

 

Gendry sat there and let the men mock him with dirty jokes, his eyes on Thoros.

 

* * *

 

 

Beth hadn't slept in her room last night, in fact she had yet to come back at all. Gendry was worried. He scowled at himself. It didn’t matter if she decided to never come back or if she had died. She knew the dangers of the forest.

Instead of her at his door that evening, a tired Thoros greeted him with a smile. He looked worried, almost aloof.

“The girl?”

“Beth?”

Thoros shook his head. “Her name is not Beth.”

Gendry’s hand went through his hair – _they were sticky due to sweat and dust._ _He promised himself he would bathe the next day._

“What?”

“The flames. Gendry, that girl… I don’t know her real name, but it’s not Beth. She is important. She is necessary.” There was turmoil in his eyes.

Gendry gulped. “Is she a threat?”

“No… I don’t know. She is a threat, but not for us. The flames showed me her face and an army of allies from the North. Should I control her? Leave her alone?”

Gendry didn’t have an answer. He scratched his jaw, feeling his beard sting. “I…”

“I hoped to talk to her, but she isn’t here.”

“Why should she be here?” he asked, exasperated, but the red priest’s look was significant.

 Gendry let him go, claiming he was tired and wishing him a good night.

When he went to bed though, he couldn’t sleep. Questions kept on popping up in his mind: _What was her real name? Why had she lied? It wasn’t like they knew each other. Why was she so important? What about that army?_

She looked so… alone.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re oversleeping!”

Gendry opened his eyes to find Beth’s face inches from him, her big grey eyes staring at him with a hint of joy. He was conscious of the little space between them, but he couldn’t tear away his eyes from her little rosy mouth, stretched in a smirk.

“I didn’t hear you…”

Beth walked away to leave him some room to get up and clothe.

 

She was smiling, but Gendry’s attention was focused on her right sleeve: it was ruined and filthy with fresh blood, partially ripped at the forearm. Red stains peppered the edge of the ruined sleeve, making Gendry scowl.

“What’s happened?” he asked, pointing at her arm.

Beth clutched the injured arm and shrugged. Gendry’s eyes were on her fingers, sticky with her own blood, so he reached out to her and pulled up her sleeve. The wound had the shape of a bite.

Judging from the size, a wolf’s bite, but luckily it looked superficial.

“You should see Jeyne, she’s good with injuries and wounds.”

Stubborn, the girl withdrew her arm and cast him a scowl; Gendry was sleepy, hungry and didn’t feel like arguing with her. He grabbed hold of her forearm hard enough to make her whimper.

He thought it was a nice cry.

“Hey!”

Gendry’s hand was covered in blood: it was a recent wound.

 

“At least clean it!”

He pointed at his bed and she sat down as the man kneeled to pick up a little box. He put two fingers in a green stinky mush and smeared it all over the wound. Despite his calloused fingers, Gendry was gentle and careful, but she couldn’t contain her whimpers. The bloody thing burned.

Anyhow, she sat there stoically until some relief kicked in and a taut smile thanked him.

“You didn’t come back last night.” He ascertained as his still sticky fingers played with the box on his lap.

Beth’s eyes were on her medication and she opened her mouth, but nothing escaped from her lips so she shook her head, fidgeting with her sleeve.

“Can I sleep here?”

 

Gendry raised an eyebrow and got up, shrugging as he collected some wood for the stove, so the girl lay down and closed her eyes. When the first hammer’s blow hit the iron, she fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The Brotherhood without Banners left the inn and Gendry watched their horses gallop away into the woods. Thoros’ words were stuck in his mind. His eyes were still on Beth, as if she was some curious animal. Beth had escaped again the previous night, after shoving her food in her throat greedily. She hadn’t been in her room when Willow checked.

Gendry was conscious that that girl was hiding something, but he hadn’t any claim on her life. He couldn’t ask what her business was in the forest or why she had escaped twice, or why she was afraid of the Brotherhood.

 

_Was she a spy?_

 

He could feel his face burn, a sudden fury boiling in his veins. He feared for the children, for Jeyne and Willow, and for his forge.

 

* * *

 

 

Beth came back in the afternoon for the first time. Her smile was sincere; her eyes shone and the invisible weight that had been sitting on her shoulders seemed gone.

“Can I sleep here?”

He thought he had hammered away his wrath, but when their eyes locked, all his suspects crept back.

Her smile vanished. She was quick-witted and she understood something was wrong.

“Who are you?” he asked holding his hammer, his eyes on hers to find any trace of falsehood in her answer.

The invisible weight on her shoulders was back as a troubled expression darkened her face.

“Not Beth. Am I wrong?” he asked, urging for some answers.

She shook her head.

He was about to ask her real name, but what for? He didn’t want to know her. He was almost wounded.

 

“Are you a spy? For the Lannisters? Freys? Boltons?”

 

Her look hardened, a hint of danger and wrath in her bright eyes that made him swallow his spittle.

 “I’m not a spy. I have nothing to do with them.” She harshly spat the words, her pitch fierce and hurt. Gendry believed her.

“I was looking for something. I found it. It’s a treasure lost years ago.”

“Why did you lie?” He didn’t really want to ask, her life and behavior weren’t his business. Yet his tongue and lips betrayed him, ignoring his mind.

“It’s easier, I suppose.”

Gendry scowled and stepped forward, towards her.

“You’ll go. Won’t you? Even though I haven’t work on your sword yet.” The girl nodded, making a step towards him.

“I have to.”

 

Gendry reached for her, just a breath between their bodies, and locked his eyes with hers. He hadn’t craved anything like this in years. Desire is usually followed by hope and hope is dangerous. He had hoped, and he had been burnt. Still, he craved her skin and lips.

 

He was distracted, but he wasn’t surprised when her lips touched his with a soft caress. She was on her tip-toes, her eyes shut.

He could hear the blood throb furiously in his ears as Beth entwined her arms behind his neck, her body suddenly flush with his. His fingers found her waist and squeezed it tightly, trying to bring her closer.

It was an intense battle of tongues, kisses, lips and bites, neither Gendry nor _Beth_ the defeated fighter.

 

Those kisses weren’t as sweet as the ones in Tom’s songs, but he didn’t complain. He wasn’t fond of Tom’s song anyway.

 

What amazed him was the need and desire in _Beth_ ’s touch as her fingers scraped his scalp in a desperate way to hold him as near as possible; as her tongue lapped his lips and jaw and neck.

Again, he wasn’t complaining.

 

_Beth_ ’s hands began wandering his body; initially his arms, then his back, until her fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. She soon sneaked them under to feel his solid muscles and hot skin, the thin layer of perspiration moistening her fingertips as she traced every bulge of his muscles.

He moaned against her skin, his fingers twisted in her messy locks, pulling them roughly to lead her mouth to his in another frenzied kiss.

Their kiss was interrupted by _Beth_ , her lips slumped in a grin, while her fingers were tugging his shirt in an attempt to remove it.

Gendry smirked and helped her by lifting the garment and throwing it on the ground, then her bold fingertips were back on his torso, drawing intricate lines on his chest and abdomen, scraping his nipples. Her gaze was focused on his.

 

Soon her shirt joined his on the ground and Gendry was amazed to find she didn’t wear any sort of smallclothes. He saw her hardened nipples waiting for him and a lovely drop of sweat creeping along the valley between her breasts.

Gendry’s eyes wandered over her shoulders, peppered with freckles and discovered the line that divided her sun tanned skin from her natural, milky skin. But his eyes were lured by her breasts, and he was about to reach for them when Beth’s teeth bit the tender flesh between his neck and shoulder, making him hiss with pleasure and pain.

 

He nudged her away to palm her breast and knead it roughly. His calloused fingers were creating a breath-breaking friction with her sensitive skin and she couldn’t hold her sighs anymore; those lovely sighs soon became moans as he pinched and rolled her nipples with his fingers.

Gendry was still playing with her chest when a rough tug on his belt caught his attention and he suddenly felt himself free from his trousers, bare and hard under her intense gaze.

No shy smiles and awkward glances passed between them.

_Beth_ looked at it curiously, the tip of her tongue licking her swollen lips, and then she threw herself on him to greedily kiss him again, a hand on the back of his neck and the other between their bodies to touch it, stroke it.

 

He didn’t try to hold his groans as her curious fingers were gripped and touched him so lightly. His hands had traced her spine and they were now on her bottom, grasping it and almost lifting her to deepen their long and intense kiss.

 

Her slacks fell on the ground, too. They gazed at each other lustfully: she was bare before him, her lips and cheeks reddened and her eyes glassy, her breath fast and hot, but what almost made him moan was the sight of her dark curls in between her legs. Their eyes met and the fire exploded again.

 

They ended up on the bed, him over her, and Gendry felt the urge to taste her skin; he started from the collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses until he reached the valley between her breasts.

He liked the scent of her in that spot, he liked to suck it and he liked the grip of her hand in his hair. He chuckled and left that spot to lick his way down towards the bellybutton – _she moaned when his tongue swirled into it_ , and finally he reached the place they both wanted his mouth to be.

 

He parted _Beth_ ’s legs and stared at her intensely, not hiding the lust in his eyes. The first caress of his tongue on her was slow and almost explorative, but it made her whimper eagerly.

Satisfied, he saw her close her eyes and he went back to his task, lapping her wet folds hungrily, sucking and pressing on her bundle of nerves while her hands were on his head, pressing him against her.

 

When she started tensing, a low growl left her lips. It was a cry he had never heard from a person, it was so wild. He liked it.

 

And when she came Gendry feared that Beth’s nails were going to rip his scalp, but he didn’t stop teasing her until she shooed him.

 

They kissed again, Gendry felt her hand grasping his manhood and didn’t deny himself some of her strokes. He trembled and took her wrist off, feeling her gaze on him. He smiled and aligned his length between her folds and, with a swift movement, filled her deeply.  
The guttural moan that left her lips, her tightness and, above all, the barrier he had felt, made him open his eyes.

“You are–were... I could have been more… gentle.” He whimpered, still on her. He wasn’t sure he could have been gentle, not when he was that eager.

“I don’t want your gentleness!” Beth snapped, “I want to feel.”

 

He complied to her wish.

Their hips met frantically, and she growled again, but Gendry wasn’t sure it was due to the pleasure this time.

Their gazes locked. _Beth_ ’s eyes were so grey, a cold grey, yet still they sent him warm feelings, as if they were something familiar and missed.

And, as he was trying to last, he felt a word pull on his lips. He closed his eyes and breathed, but he needed that grey, because that grey was… he opened his mouth. “Arya!”

_Beth_ ’s eyes opened wide, all her lust left her pupils to be replaced by astonishment and fear.

 

As that name flew away from his mouth, he realized who she was and that he was throbbing inside of her. Into m’lady.

It was an absurd thought, dreadful and… marvelous. He tore off her because he couldn’t come into her, he couldn’t come _because of_ her.

   
His body, however, betrayed him and he spilled his seed with a defiant grunt, blemishing her flat stomach. He sat back on his heels, panting and shaking his head, his eyes a little unfocused for the guilty bliss, as anger leaked into him; his hands covered his face and he felt tears streaming down his cheeks.

_Shame? Anger? Relief?_

 

Arry... m’lady... Arya was still trapped underneath him, her fingers were stroking his arms in a comforting gesture and he was tempted to drive her away because she had misled him, because she didn’t trust him, because she had been dead for six years; but he let her comfort him.

He felt her sit before him and he pulled his hands away to look at her;  her hand reached his cheek to caress it tenderly and he leaned on the touch, closing his eyes.

 

Suddenly the weight of the situation crashed down on him and he jumped on his feet to slip into his clothes and put some space between them.

Hundreds of questions were swirling into his head, but he chose a simple “Why?”

He let her decide which ' _why_ ' she wanted to answer.

“Revenge.” Was the first word and he nodded. “And I had to come back to find my biggest treasure, Nymeria.”

She paused as her eyes stared at him. “I thought you were dead, hanged somewhere years ago, but when I arrived here and heard of ser Gendry, the bastard knight and blacksmith of the Brotherhood, I couldn’t just ignore it. I didn’t want to upset you, I just needed to see you.”

 

Gendry nodded as his eyes fell on her body, still bare and soiled by his seed. She was biting her lower lip and he thought he had been blind to not see m’lady in that girl.

She had lost the traits of childhood but he could still see Arry in the thick brown hair, long face and bright grey eyes; she even had the same old habit of chewing her bottom lip. His stomach churned and a wave of anger hit him.  
“You should have said somethin’. You could have revealed yourself to me.” He knew he wasn’t worthy of her trust anymore, not after joining the Brotherhood, a gesture that must have hurt her.

And yet she had let him ruin her.

 

 “I didn’t want to stay. I wanted to see if you were alive and just go. . . then. . .” a pitch of anger clouded her clear voice.

“And then? Then you let me ruin you!” he yelled.

He wanted to throw her out his house. If the Brotherhood discovered the truth, he would most likely be gelded or hanged. A bastard could not ruin a princess.

“There was nothing to ruin! I’m not a princess, not really. Stupid bullheaded boy…” she sighed, defeated, hugging her knees to her chest tightly. Her voice was now soft. “I’ve seen and done awful things, Gendry. I was cold as stone, you know. I am ruined, but not by you. When I saw you for the first time after all these years, all our memories came streaming back and broke down my walls of indifference.

I hated you, you know?! But then, Nymeria’s furious eyes and your stubborn attitude made me think and feel. You ruined nothing. Stupid.”

 

Gendry’s fury was there, pushing for some release, but when their eyes locked and that monster vanished swiftly, leaving him tired and confused.

 

He couldn’t turn her away because she would never come back and he didn’t want to lose her again. He sat down near her and they both let the silence fill the moment.

 

* * *

 

 

When the sky reddened, Gendry turned his face to look at her and trailed a hand along her bare arm. They had been still for hours, lost in their own thoughts.

 

“Let’s sleep.” He murmured, lying on his bed and patting the place near his body.  Greedily, she cuddled against his shoulder, using his firm arm muscles as a pillow.

“You’ll go anyway, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will.”

“I can’t stop you…” it wasn’t a question. She looked up at him, his eyes lost somewhere else.

“No.”

 

She nudged his arm with her nose and then left a soft bite on his bicep. “But I’ll be back. If Death doesn't claim me, I’ll come back.” A yawn left her lips and he rolled on his side to hug her.

 

* * *

 

 

In the middle of the night, Gendry was awakened by some pressure on his cheek and neck. He opened his eyes and found a still-nude Arya straddling him, a playful smirk on her lips, as her nails scraped his chest.  
He smiled back and gripped her waist tightly.

 

That night, as a good bull, he let her ride him until she screamed his name.

 

* * *

 

 

The following morning Gendry found himself alone in his bed, dazed and tired and content. Someone was knocking incessantly at the door.

He opened his eyes, looking for Arya. Nothing. Her clothes were gone and her with them.

 

Perhaps forever.

 

The person at the door, Willow, was now calling him.

“Comin’,” he replied jumping on his feet and looking for his clothes, still discarded in the ground.

When he opened the door, Willow stared at him before laughing at his messy hair and bite-marked neck.

“What,” he deadpanned, scratching his head.

“Breakfast!”

 

Porridge and dried meat to break his fast. A perfect meal after his long night, he thought wryly.  
He placed the bowl on the table and for the first time that morning, he saw something on it: a long thing wrapped in a silk cloth. He opened the fabric and he saw her sword, her real sword, Needle. He remembered it hanging on her side, always sharp and ready to defend her.

His fingertip trailed the dark blade, cutting himself as his eyes studied it intensely, searching for something…

 

He found her promise to come back, and he smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Six months passed and odd rumors were spreading through the kingdom: the ghost of a girl who rode a wolf as tall as a horse, with a battle cry of “Winterfell!”, they said she was seeking vengeance.

 

Few people believed those stories, but Gendry did.

He hoped that ghost was alive, he hoped she was well fed, as he pounded armor and sharpened blades.

 

*

He was half asleep, tired and sore for his long night at work. He knew he should have been on his feet an hour ago, but he couldn’t find the strength. _He deserved some rest!_ He was drifting into a sweet sleep, he could feel his muscles relax and-

 

“You’re oversleeping again, Ser Gendry!”

 

He shoot to his feet and thought he must have been dreaming, because before him was Arya.

 

Arya, with her tangled hair and torn clothes, her pale face soiled with mud and sweat. She smelled, too.

They laughed until tears moistened their cheeks and their bellies ached for some reprieve.  
When their breath returned to normal, their eyes locked and for the first time she stared at him shyly.

 

He thought he liked her red cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut! Argh, so awkward
> 
> I really want to thank Rachel for her precious help and I dedicate this story to her and to all my followers on Tumblr (especially Aprilmaie).


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